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She had to admit, Mason Walsh sure cleaned up well. He had such an appealing boy next door sort of thing going on. He didn’t bother with a jacket, instead wearing a soft caramel-colored sweater over a cream button-down shirt and a pair of pressed khakis. In the evening breeze, she caught a hint of his aftershave. Dark and spicy, she had to admit she liked it.
“You look nice,” she told him honestly.
“And you look beautiful.”
Tess caught the way his eyes looked her up and down, obviously pleased with what he was seeing. Remembering yesterday, she immediately went on her guard. Mason might be pleased with her now—how long would that last? She was poised, ready for another of his mood swings.
He gestured for her to step out onto the porch. But, before he could help her down the steps, Mason steered her toward the picturesque swing that took up one side of Ophelia’s porch.
“Sit with me?” he asked.
As if she could say no.
It swayed a little as she climbed up on the wooden seat. Mason waited until she was situated before he sat beside her. He closed the gap between them so neatly, she didn’t think she could slip a sheet of paper between their thighs.
“So,” he began, one heel of his boot against the porch as he rocked them softly, “Willie told me that you were down at the station today. I wanted to take a second and talk to you about that.”
It seemed as if the ever faithful Hamlet gossip mill had kept him up to date on her trip downtown to be interrogated again. Like she needed the reminder.
“It was just some more questions. I’m used to it by now.”
He waved her obvious brush-off away with his hand. “Not that. She told me that there was something you were going to ask me but you didn’t want her to buzz me in case I was busy. Before we went out, I wanted to remind you that there’s nothing you can do that would bother me. If there’s anything you need, I want you to feel like you can always come to me.”
“I need that sheriff to stop treating me like a criminal.”
It popped out before she even realized she was going to say it. And there was no way she could take it back.
Mason pressed his heel down, stopping the swing in its motion. He stood up, framing her body as he rested one arm along the side closest to him. “Don’t let my boss upset you. This is new for all of us. We’re trying our best.”
She stayed seated. The rocking of the swing after Mason got up was strangely calming. Tess folded her hands in her lap, staring at her nails. “I know, and I appreciate how hard you’re all working on my husband’s case. But she’s still convinced I had something to do with Jack’s death. Nothing I can do to make her see reason. I've given up on trying.”
She pointedly didn’t mention how Sheriff De Angelis was also convinced she had a hand in Lucas getting shot. Tess wasn’t completely naive. If Mason knew about the gunshots being fired outside of the doctor’s office, she was sure she would’ve heard from him far before tonight. The sheriff must have kept the investigation into the shooting from her deputy. She could only assume why.
Something told her that turnabout was fair play. Mason kept the night with the note a secret. Now it was the sheriff’s turn.
Tess didn't say a word about it at all.
Mason’s voice was a rumble deep in his chest. “That’s impossible!” He sounded angry on her behalf.
Oh, yeah. That would be exactly why.
Still, she huffed. “It’s nice that someone believes me.”
“I've always believed you.”
“You'd have to. You're the one who stuck me in the holding cell. You know I was there.”
“No, it's not just that. I trust you, Tess. And, okay, I know we just met and, yes, the circumstances are less than ideal, but I want you to trust me, too.”
There was something in his earnestness that caught her attention. She’d been picking at her thumbnail, unwilling to look him in the eye in case she saw something there that she couldn’t reciprocate. But she heard it instead. And, as much as she wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, it was.
Her stomach sank. Glancing up, there was no hiding the utter adoration splayed across his face as he focused on her.
Why, she wondered. What the hell had she done to make this man think so highly of her and want her so badly when they were strangers a week ago? And what the hell could she do to stop it?
She gentled her tone. “Mason, you’re very sweet, but—”
But? He didn’t want to hear anything that came after a but.
